Trauma Triggers

Sometimes I believe my own hurts are well in my past, and that I have captured all the thoughts and submitted them all to the Lord.  I think the triggers have no power, because I see how the Lord has redeemed the terrible things (or trust that He will), and I am healed from the base-brain trauma responses that used to cripple me.  The PTSD is gone.

I believe all this with a measure of realism. I don't think that I am Mighty Mouse or anything. I know I am not invincible.  I know it is the Holy Spirit doing the work.  I know bad or hard things can (will) still happen in the future.  I even know that when a memory emerges, I will have feelings about it.  But I have tools and support and know what to do.  I won't drown. 

And then...

I watch one of my girls behave out of the box and I realize all the hurt they carry each day without words to explain.  I ache for them.  I feel protective. Someone hurt my baby.  I feel angry. I feel the loss that I wasn't there to protect her, to prevent it. I hate that I may never know exactly what happened.  All these things feel normal and right. It is reasonable to respond with these thoughts and feelings when someone we love is hurting.

But there is something more.  Something I can't quite put my finger on, and it's shaking me. It is blessedly unfamiliar enough that I can't understand why I feel like I just need to sit down, put something down that I didn't know I was carrying, or loosen my clothes so I can take a full breath. With a frustratingly slow dawning, I realize what it is. My own trauma. Once it clicks, the memories come so quickly that the chronology is a mess.

I need to be healed AGAIN.  I need to be restored AGAIN.  I need to get my feet firmly planted on the Rock Who never moves AGAIN. I know I will. I know He will. It will be ok.

And I thank God for it all. I don't love the ride, but I hear the whisper of the still, small Voice telling me that He is bigger, stronger, and ready for it all.  He is not surprised.  Not by the wave of memories and feelings, nor by the ugliness of what happened. Being reminded so viscerally of the trauma gives me the opportunity to feel just as concretely the goodness of Jesus. And THAT gives me the focus and assurance to look my girls in their big, beautiful eyes and tell them firmly that it will be ok.